Here is a less than flattering poem I had written about a substitute teacher that I had only heard about but had never encountered until my junior year. She reminded me of a school marm from the turn of the century - and I don't mean this century. Subs have it hard because there is always at least one student who acts up and ruins it for the rest of the class. Today's feature:
The Bear
If you painted her last name
You’d have a picture of a “Bear”
Or the ancient braud herself
The decrepit lady with blue hair
We see the old grouch
Come back year after year
Why, this lady is so old
She went to school with Shakespeare
She was born to be a teacher
She knew that from the start
And after years of teaching
She bought a genuine handcart.
She taught [near] little reservoirs
And on the Mississippi plain
One of her students was Samuel
Know to us a Mark Twain.
When she came to Jordon District
Not knowing how we’d feel
She traded in her ragged handcart
For a second-hand automobile
She never had a date
Nor did she ever kiss
Nor did she ever get proposed to
For her name is still “Miss”
But if we’re nice to her
She’ll be nice to us
But if we’re obnoxious
She’ll put up a fuss
Jordon School district had problems
Added on, we could tell
When the old lady came here
With a name that fit her well.
